


Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

by spacemonkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wishes he could just click his heels three times and be done with it, but life never was that simple. And then there was Cas.</p>
<p>(Set during 5x04)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Dean falls asleep on a hardwood floor that’s grimy and gross and he just knows he’s going to be sore tomorrow. It takes him hours to drift off, and when he finally does, he ends up smack bang in the middle of Spartacus, standing up in a sea of Dean’s and yelling “I am Dean Winchester” then smugly sitting back when a hundred other Dean’s shoot back, one at a time, that they’re Dean, and it’s funny at first. But then it goes on and on and Dean figures there’s about five hundred more Dean’s to go through, and that’s when he thinks it’s gonna get real tedious real quick, and the smirk drops from his face.

“One of you is bad enough,” Sam remarks, propping his legs up on the seat in front of him. Dean rolls his eyes, and the Dean sitting up front turns around and sends Sam a glare that is child’s talk for “get those size fifteens off of my seat, asshole.”

Sam shrugs and laughs like he really is an asshole, but his feet hit the ground anyway and he turns to Dean. “I bet you’re loving this.”

“Why would you think that?” Dean snaps.

Sam shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It doesn’t even surprise Dean when he blinks and suddenly Sam has turned into another Dean. He does think, blandly when that same Dean stands up and tells everyone to shut their pie holes, that maybe next time he shouldn’t let trust Chuck when he says “the food is fine . . . I think” because Dean usually dreams about tits and hell and occasionally Castiel, not necessarily in that order and the latter mostly because he pops up to chat in Dean’s damn dreams, and sometimes because Dean can’t help himself. He hates Chuck’s stupid dream inducing food, and Castiel tilts his head and says, “You don’t belong here.”

Dean doesn’t wonder where Castiel came from. He doesn’t react at all. Just stares blankly as the asshole to his right starts to yell in his ear, and Castiel sits at his left, his brow furrowed and his hands loose in his lap, and he whispers, “Dean.” In such a way that it makes Dean’s stomach drop. He swallows and nods when Castiel takes his hand and wordlessly the two of them make their way through the Dean’s and towards the door, with a green and white EXIT sign burning bright above it. Dean allows himself to be led, and they both breathe a sigh of relief once they’re through the door and its shut behind them.

Castiel doesn’t let his hand go, doesn’t look at him, he just stands there and stares out into the darkness and Dean has to ask. “Is it you?”

“No,” Castiel murmurs. He turns and Dean sucks in a breath at the look Castiel gives him. Bright and fucking alive, and Dean hasn’t seen that in days now. “No, it’s not. The real me still has an hour and a half till he’s allowed to wake you.” Dean frowns, because he’s completely lost when Castiel gets like this, figment of his imagination Castiel or not, but then Castiel spreads the arm that isn’t currently occupied with Dean’s own hand and looks down at himself. “But isn’t this enough?”

Dean looks. Same old suit, no jeans or heavy boots or shirts that have seen better days, and he smells amazing. Like fucking sunshine and rainwater or whatever the hell smells good because Dean has troubles with labelling things, and Castiel smirks in that way that screams still an angel and says, “You’re labelling me again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Dean says. Steps closer and breathes. There’s no heavy air of sex, drugs and minus the rock; more of the roll and plenty of Absinthe if you will, and Castiel stands there and lets him breathe, lets him close his eyes and lean forward until their foreheads touch and their lips meet chastely.

“Is it you?” Castiel asks this time, and Dean doesn’t have an answer. Castiel nods as the seconds of silence stretch on, and he presses a kiss against Dean’s cheek before turning away and letting Dean’s hand go. “He misses you.”

“Who?” Dean manages.

Castiel smiles thinly. “Me.”

Dean wakes up on a hardwood floor, feeling sore as hell and not at all rested, but he guesses that’s how it goes in 2014. He wipes the grime out of his eyes, and rolls over to find Cas who smells of sex and drugs and plenty more where that came from. Their eyes meet, and Dean has to look away almost instantly. He’s blank and fucking wrong, broken being a word that Chuck had whispered in his ear like a writer would, and Dean has more than a feeling that other Dean is part of the cause. 

“You don’t like me,” Cas says with a smile that’s stretching. Dean ignores the question, choosing to sit up and roll his shoulders instead. “I know you don’t.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cas leans forward, straight into Dean’s face and of all the things that have changed, Dean’s sort of glad to see something stayed the same. “I know things. Angel, remember?” He laughs hysterically then, eyes crinkling and teeth barely showing and Dean pulls back, rolls away and up till he’s on his feet and heading anywhere but down on the floor. 

He feels sick. Physically sick like he’s seconds from bending over and heaving Chuck’s dream inducing dinner all over the disgusting ground, and doing that would probably be a blessing, but then Cas is silent and standing right there in front of him. He’s got a look on his face that’s almost normal, almost clear, and then it turns desperate and Dean’s just glad to see a bit of life still hanging around. “I know you can’t stand to look at me anymore, that you’ll fuck anything that isn’t me, and then you will, and I know you don’t like me.” Cas grins through it all, and Dean has to swallow harshly. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation on a good day, let alone two minutes after waking up on a goddamn floor, and he raises his hands in a calming gesture.

“Do you know that I’m not him?”

“You both end up the same.” Cas takes his hand from the air, clings to it like Dean imagines he would a needle, and Dean sees the bruises up and down his bare arm; pinpricks and fingerprints and Dean’s stomach rolls. “And so do I.”

“Cas-”

“I still like you. Both of you.” Cas smirks. “Chuck wrote love, but what the fuck does he know?”

Dean stares, and isn’t surprised when Cas kisses him. He’s sure as hell surprised that he kisses back, though, and that he’s the one that’s needy and desperate. Cas stands there when Dean pulls away, grinning to himself like he knows something that no one else does and it’s probably fact that he does, and Dean feels suffocated. He heads for the door, ignoring the quiet “see ya” thrown his way that feels rehashed and ends up face to face with himself. Dean slams the door behind him, glowering at Other Dean, who is leaning against the wall and smirking like a total asshole, and Dean knows exactly what he’s thinking; what he’s feeling and what he’s done, and he hates himself. “Having fun yet?” Other Dean asks, and Dean can’t even look anymore.

He growls “fuck you” in his own damn face before shoving past and heading out into the cold night air. He has half a mind to click his heels together three times, but that’s not all he wants to do, and in the end Dean just slams his hand against a wall and shouts “son of a bitch” because that’s all he can do, and Dean sits down in a pile of dirt and waits right there til there’s something else to be done.


End file.
